


Fix You

by C_Que



Category: Benedict Cumberbatch - Fandom, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M, Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Que/pseuds/C_Que
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ordered back to civilization, Evelyn Price struggles to heal from an incident 'over there'. Will she ever overcome the aftermath?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fix You

Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. She was flooring it -- pushing until her lungs filled to their capacity. With every pounding step against the pavement followed a harsh exhale and an acute rush of adrenaline. For a moment, she felt at peace. And free.

It had been a month since the incident happened and she was itching to return to the field. Being with civilization felt very awkward -- as if she didn't entirely belong. She had heard that the field did that to people -- put things into perspective -- what mattered, what didn't. Perhaps even jaded her soul a bit. Overhearing some of the everyday concerns of people left a bitter taste on her tongue. Who cared what happened on last night's episode of _Downton Abbey_? Didn't they know that outside of their bubble, there existed death? Malnutrition, civil wars, infectious diseases -- this was the reality for more than 90% of the world. She didn't belong here.

As if people really belonged in war zones -- perhaps she was more fucked up than she thought. Her thoughts often drifted toward that day, though truthfully, she couldn't remember much. She could remember that it happened on a Tuesday, that the sun was high and that the air was warm. People filled the streets and the hustle and bustle of Kabul, Afghanistan was as ordinary as could be. James Daniels, her colleague, walked behind her, keeping an eye on Kinah as she chased after her sister. She remembered Kinah's laughter as she ran for her sister, Rashida, who quickly nipped behind her in a playful game of as-you-go hide and seek. Their laughter was joyous -- children everywhere were all the same. She was reaching out to hold Rashida's hand when the explosion happened, knocking her and Rashida to the ground.

Suddenly, there was the taste of the earth in her mouth, a painful ringing filled her ears. Once she got a grip on the reality of the situation, her brain quickly clicked into an instinctive gear. She gathered four year old Rashida in her arms and began to run toward the office -- it was only a few hundred meters away and she figured that would be the safest place to be...at least for the moment.

But Rashida's scream for her older sister stopped her dead in her tracks. Pressing Rashida's head to her shoulder, she turned around to look for James and Kinah. As the dust settled, she could make out James' silhouette bent over a small body, his hands frantically checking for a pulse. He hoisted Kinah into his arms and began running. She ran too.

Afghan police rushed towards them, facing the terror that others fled. Another explosion shook the buildings behind. Her legs pushed as fast as they could; her heart pumped hard. Then, she must have tripped on something, because she found herself and Rashida tumbling toward the ground again. That's all she could recall.

After that day, she found herself in a military hospital and was informed that Kinah died from her injuries. Such innocence dashed in the most terrible of ways -- she supposed it made sense -- after all, wasn't innocence supposed to be war's first victim? Rashida sustained some minor injuries, but she would survive. As for her colleague James, he sustained injuries from flying shrapnel, and would be able to make use of his leg again after a few months of physical therapy.

What another tragedy in Kabul.

A few days later, after a debriefing, they sent her home. She tried everything to try to get out of it, but the higher ups wouldn't budge and ordered her to return to the states. Instead of returning to Boston, she decided to drop in on her sister, Clare, who was temporarily living in London with her husband, Samuel. Then she begged the agency to be placed in the fundraising department at London HQ, with the hope that it would only be a short stint before she could return to the field again. She just needed to convince the agency's psychiatrist that she was fine. Unfortunately, that would be a lot tougher than she expected.

As she rounded the corner, she began to slow her pace. Clare and Samuel's home near Hampstead Heath was only a few streets over. She was grateful to be united with her sister again-- it had been a few years since she saw her last, though they kept in touch frequently via e-mail while she was posted in the Middle East. They had always been close, but their careers took them to opposite ends of the world. Well, more hers than Clare's.

Over the years, her sister had established herself as a young and up-and-coming artist, with serious potential and prospect. She was opening her new gallery in London's West End and was holding an opening cocktail reception that night. Clare asked if she could help her set up -- what she was sure was an enticement to finally be social and make a public appearance. She knew Clare was right about her having to get out more, even if it was begrudgingly so. Many media heads and figures were expected -- Clare then suggested she attend for 'networking purposes' since she was part of the fundraising sector now.

Bleh, fundraising. Not field work.

She reached the front stoop and slipped the key into the door. Would she have to wear a dress to the event? It had been a while since she had done this. Nevertheless, come evening, Evelyn Price would be ready.


End file.
